Slasherazzi (17 page)

The next morning, we pulled into the parking lot of St. Cuthbert’s Psychiatric Hospital. Vince and I walked up to the main entrance, and after asking around, we were directed to the children’s ward where we sat in the waiting room for a member of staff. It was some fifteen minutes before an older man with thin, gray hair and a neatly pressed charcoal suit came to greet us.

“I am Doctor Mieznov,” he said, extending his hand to shake briefly. “How is it I can help you gentlemen today?”
I lifted my police badge from my pocket. “Detective Beckman, and this is my assistant, Mr. Fairfield. I was hoping you might help us with some inquiries.”
He squinted and leaned forward to inspect my badge, then nodded. “Come this way. It would be best if we spoke somewhere a little more private.”
We followed him a short way down the hall to his office. The doctor sat down behind his desk, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepling his fingers. “What is it exactly I can help you with, Detective?”
Vince lifted his messenger bag from his shoulder as he sat, and rummaged through its contents to bring out a copy of the news story he’d printed regarding the young boy being found by the roadside. He pushed the piece of paper across the desk.
Doctor Mieznov picked up the article and quickly scanned through it. “This was some years ago. I am not sure I will be of much help to you.”
“Try and remember,” I said. “We believe this boy may be a suspect in multiple homicides. If there is any information you can give us that would be of help, we would greatly appreciate it.”
The doctor hummed as he scratched at his temple; then he placed the paper back down on the desk. “I do not recall much, but if my memory serves me right, this boy was one of Doctor Hendrick’s patients.”
“Is he here?” Vince asked.
Mieznov shook his head. “Doctor Hendrick was discharged from the hospital some years ago.”
“What about the patient files?” I asked. “There must have been records kept of the sessions they had together.”
“Of course. All of our sessions are documented in full and stored on the patient’s medical files, but you should already know I cannot divulge confidential patient information without the necessary legal documentation. I assume you do not have this with you.”
At that moment, the door opened and a middle-aged woman walked in carrying a brown file in her hands. She looked to us and paused. “Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor. I didn’t realize you were busy. We need your signature urgently.”
Doctor Mieznov nodded and extended a hand to her. She passed the file to him and smiled at us before glancing down at the desk. Her eyes landed on the article. “Oh my. It’s been some time since that young boy left our care. Still feels like it happened just yesterday. The really bad cases like that have a way of sticking with you for the rest of your life.”
“Here you are,” Mieznov said, handing back the file before focusing his attention on us once more. The nurse continued to stare at the picture of the young boy for another five seconds before she left quickly, closing the door shut behind her with a click. “So, where were we?”
“We don’t have a warrant for the information yet,” I said. “But it’s a matter of great importance. If this man is our killer, he could kill again at any time.”
“So there is reasonable doubt as to his guilt in this matter?” the doctor replied. “I am sorry, but without evidence or the proper legal documentation, I cannot break doctor-patient confidentiality. Now, if you’ll excuse me I must make my rounds.”
He held up one hand, pointing us toward the door. I stood and offered my thanks before leaving the room with Vince at my rear.
“Well, that was informative,” Vince said.
“Yeah, it was,” I replied and headed to the reception desk. The woman who sat there was the same one who had come into the office while we were talking to the doctor. She looked up from the computer screen and smiled.
“Oh, hello again. Is there something you need?”
“You knew the boy in that picture?” I asked, and she nodded. “What can you tell us about him?”
She pursed her lips before she spoke. “Only that he was very troubled. The boy would not let any of the male nurses near him, or he would scream and yell. Other than that, he never spoke a single word. I don’t know exactly what happened, but they say his father abused him as a child. I’m sorry, but that is all I can tell you.”
“Do you know where he went after he was discharged?” Vince asked.
“I do not.”
“What about this Doctor Hendrick?” I offered. “Do you know where we could find him?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
I sighed, thanked the woman for her assistance, and turned to leave.
“Wait,” she called as she came out from behind the desk. “I remember something that might help you. There were three girls here in the ward at the same time as the boy. They were the only other patients he would allow near him. I believe at least one of them is currently back with us in our adult ward. Perhaps, it might be worth a visit. I could see if I can get the details if you would like.”
“That would be great,” I replied. “Thank you so much.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem,” she said and scampered back behind the desk. A minute later, she came back with a small appointment card, on which she had scribbled a name and ward number. “I hope you find the boy, and that he is doing well.”
We thanked her again and walked through the long hospital corridors, following the signs hung from the ceilings to direct us to ward twelve. Once there, we asked around, and a young male nurse led us to a small bedroom. Inside was a woman with short black hair and skin the color of mocha. She sat facing the window and looked out over the hospital garden.
“Mara, you have visitors,” the nurse said, then left to finish whatever job we had interrupted.
The woman turned to us and smiled. “Hello,” she said, cocking her head to one side.
“Are you Mara?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m sorry, but do I know you?” Her head twitched.
“I’m Alex, and this is Vince,” I said as I stepped inside the room. “We’ve never met, but I believe we have a mutual friend. We were hoping you might be able to answer some questions for us.”
Vince moved to her side and handed her the picture. Her eyes widened, and her jaw went slack. “Th-this is Mouse.”
“So you remember him?” Vince asked.
She nodded. “We were in the children’s ward together. He never spoke, so we nicknamed him Mouse. I remember he would always throw a tantrum whenever a male nurse came near him. And he hated taking his medicine.”
“Do you know what happened to Mouse?” I asked.
Mara frowned and visibly shuddered. Not a twitch this time but a full body tremble. “He was one of the creepy doctor’s patients.”
“You mean Doctor Hendrick?” Vince said.
“Yes, that was his name. There were rumors that he was performing weird experiments on his patients. Electroshock therapy, and other things. No one liked to talk about him. Mouse was always afraid of him. He’d come into our room and hide behind us or under the bed when it was time for his sessions, but he could never tell us why.” She paused, and her shoulders jerked upward.
“One day, Mouse started to talk, like nothing had ever happened. It was so strange. Shortly after, they released him from the hospital and sent him to one of the nearby orphanages. For a few months, he would come back to see us once a week. He had checkups with Doctor Hendrick, you see?”
“Do you know which orphanage he was placed in?” I asked.
Mara shook her head. “He talked about the place a lot, but I don’t think he ever told me the name. Oh, but I do remember him mentioning church bells every time he came to visit. They were right next door to a church, and he was fascinated by the sound of the bells chiming in the morning.”
“Church bells?” I asked. The orphanage I’d grown up in was over in the next town, and there had been a church across the road. I shook my head. There had to be plenty of children’s homes within hearing distance of bells. I looked over at Vince. “Think you can work your magic and find all the orphanages in the area that are next to churches?”
Vince shrugged. “Might be difficult. Who’s to say the buildings haven’t closed, or even been knocked down in the last twenty-odd years? What about this Doctor Hendrick?”
“He was fired from the hospital about ten years ago,” Mara said. “They said his practices were unethical. I’m not surprised. His patients always seemed to get much worse before they got better. Even then, I’m not sure they ever really recovered. They seemed normal enough, but there was always something not quite right about them. Even Mouse still had those odd moments where he’d go silent and stare at you with this blank gaze. Who knows what was really going on inside his head?”
“Might be worth checking out the doctor then,” Vince suggested. “Maybe he can give us some more information on what happened.”
“I hope so,” I replied. “If we can find out what really happened to Mouse, it might help us learn something about his behaviors. Thank you, Mara. You’ve been a great help.”
She turned to smile at me. “You’re welcome. If you find Mouse, tell him I said hi and that he should come visit sometime. I’d love to catch up with him.”
“Will do,” Vince said as we left the room. “Thanks again.”
I shut the door behind us, then turned to Vince. “Guess we’d better get searching for orphanages.”

We returned to the motel and spent the rest of the morning cooped up in the tiny room. Vince spent much of his time at his laptop, searching through a list of orphanages in the area in an attempt to find those in close proximity to churches. Unfortunately, the list was turning out longer than expected when we included all those that had closed in the last thirty years.

My stomach growling, I decided to head out for some lunch while Vince continued his research. After driving at a slow pace through the neighborhood, I stopped at Wendy’s to pick up a chicken Caesar wrap for myself and a bacon cheeseburger for Vince. By the time I returned, Vince had finished compiling his list. He snatched the paper bag from my hand, tore open the wrapping and took a large bite from his burger.

“You know, if you were that hungry for some meat…” I smirked at him, and Vince almost choked. He finished chewing and washed it down with some soda.

“Bastard, are you trying to kill me now?” he asked, unable to keep a straight face. He picked up a sheet of paper from the table and held it out for me. “We’ve got eleven orphanages within a fifty mile radius. Three of them are still open today.”

I took the list and read through it slowly. A slight shiver raced up my spine, and I sucked in my lower lip. “De Soto Children’s Home. That’s where I grew up before my parents adopted me. This can’t be a coincidence, can it? I mean, I’ve been wondering why the killer chose my house to break into. Why leave me that message?”

“Because you were the one working the case from the start,” Vince suggested.
“But what if he was someone I knew as a kid?”
“What if he wasn’t?” Vince replied. “There are thirteen orphanages on the list. He could have gone to any one of them.”
I nodded and swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Yeah, you’re right. I can cross that bridge when we come to it. I reckon we could cover them all today,” I said, sitting down to unwrap my meal. Vince nodded in agreement.
We started working our way through the list after filling our stomachs, starting with the three orphanages that were still open. Our inquiries turned out to be dead ends as none of the staff there had been working around the time Russell Ashcroft would have been adopted, and their files turned up no evidence of him ever being there.
Next, we moved onto the closed orphanages. There was little we could do there except check out the scene and try to find the ex-owners. Surely, someone would remember something. Another four orphanages later and we were still no further forward.
“Where to next?” I asked.
Vince browsed over his list. “Next one is over in Lake City. Your childhood home, De Soto. Bet this’ll be a blast from the past for you.”
The car’s engine purred as I pulled away and turned toward the I-75. Once on the interstate, I put my foot down, and the wind roared past my ears. We took the turn off into Lake City, and I followed Vince’s instructions as he guided me through the busy roads to the site of my former home.
The orphanage sat a little way back from the roadside, surrounded by a metal wire fence. It was a large two-story brick building with many of the windows now broken or boarded up. The grass in the yard stood at least three feet high, swaying in the gentle breeze. It was a far cry from how I remembered the place all those years ago.
I hadn’t been back to the orphanage since my eighteenth birthday when I’d asked about my birth parents. Mom and Dad—my adopted ones, that is— brought me back to the care home without question to find out what we could from Ms. Bretton, the former owner, only to find that my origins were completely unknown. There had been a small horde of children running about the grounds, chasing each other around the garden and playing on the old swing set, which now sat in the corner, half obscured by the rampant weeds and plants, its frame rusted and bent out of shape. All that was left of the place was an empty shell, broken and wasting away to become nothing more than history.
“Sure you’re okay?” Vince asked.
I nodded and opened the door to climb out. Vince followed as I trudged up the garden path and pressed my palm to the wooden door. The green paint flaked off under my touch. “Just been a while.”
Vince wandered around the side of the building, and I went after him. The scenery from the back was even more stunning than I remembered it. An open field stretched out before us, the grass dotted with little spots of yellow and purple here and there. And beyond that was Lake De Soto. The sun hung high in the sky, reflected in the lake’s mirror-like surface.
“So this is where you came from,” Vince said.
I nodded. “Yeah. Can’t believe it’s been shut down.”
“Eight years ago, according to the local newspaper. They say the owner became too ill to look after the place and no one was willing to take over.”
“Did you happen to find out what happened to her afterward?”
Vince shrugged. “She continued to live here for a while. Guessing she must have moved on.”
I slumped my shoulders and let out a long breath. It would have been nice to see Ms. Bretton again. Until I reached the age of six and was adopted, she was like a mother to me and the other children. I went to speak when the grass behind us crunched.
“Hey, what are you doing back here? This is private property,” said an elderly man. The top of his head was completely bald, with only short gray hair around the sides. He stepped forward with his metal cane in one hand, and furrowed his bushy brows.
“Just, uh, taking a trip down memory lane,” I said.
He paused and looked me up and down. “You one of Agatha’s boys?”
“Used to be a long time ago,” I replied. “Do you know what happened to her?”
“She passed away a couple of years ago.”
“Oh,” I breathed, unable to ignore the heavy weight that settled in my chest.
The man inclined his head toward the house next door. “Would you like to come inside? We could talk more over a fresh pot of coffee.”
“That would be nice. Thank you,” I said as we followed him to the neighboring property. He led us into a small living area and instructed us to sit while he went into the kitchen. I sat down on the sofa with Vince at my side, and bent over to rest my elbows on my knees.
“I’m sorry,” Vince said, placing a hand on my back. “About your loss, I mean.”
“I’m okay,” I said, turning my head to face him and offering a forced smile. “Just came as a bit of a shock.”
We stayed in silence after that, until the gentleman returned carrying a tray of cups and a coffeepot and set it down on the table. Vince withdrew his hand from my back and reached for the pot to pour a cup, which he handed to me before making his own.
“Oh, I hope you’ll excuse my manners,” the old man said as he slumped into his armchair. “I’m William Bretton. Agatha was my older sister.”
Vince nodded in acknowledgment. “Vince. And this is Alex.”
“Are you one of Agatha’s too?” William asked.
Vince shook his head. “Nah, I’m just accompanying Alex. So what happened? I read that the orphanage closed several years ago.”
“Agatha started to fall ill about nine years ago. At first, we thought it was just old age, but it quickly got worse and soon she had to give up the orphanage. We found out it was cancer, and she went into hospital to have one of her lungs removed.”
William paused to lean forward and pour himself a drink, to which he added some creamer and sugar before settling back into the chair. “She was getting better, but during a checkup a few years later, they found it had returned. The doctors started her on radiation, but the cancer had become malignant and spread through her body. By then, it was too late to do much of anything. All we could do was keep her as comfortable as possible until her time came.”
“Well, I’m glad she had family with her,” I said, silently wishing I’d been to visit earlier.
“I was all she had left,” William said. “She never remarried after her husband died in Vietnam. They didn’t have any kids of their own, so she started the orphanage. You kids were everything to her, like the family she always wanted.” He stopped to place his cup on a coaster, then pushed himself to his feet.
“Wait right here. I’ve got something I’d like to show you.” He walked out of the room, leaving us to sit in silence and sip our tea. So far, we’d learned nothing useful, and I had to wonder if we ever would. With Ms. Bretton dead, there was little chance of anyone remembering one particular young boy.
William returned shortly after with a small box, which he carefully placed on the coffee table. He lifted up the flaps and pulled out a black leather-bound photo album to hand to me. I opened it up to browse through a collection of photos that started with black and white, and progressed to Polaroids, then full-size color photographs. Each of them were pictures of young children, with the occasional shot of Ms. Bretton. In one of the older pictures, she stood in front of the orphanage, wearing a flowery skirt that reached to her ankles with a matching blouse, and her blonde hair flowed in long, straight lines in front of her shoulders.
“She looks so different there,” I said.
William nodded. “Times sure did change. I thought maybe you might want some of the photos. If you can find any of yourself that is. Shouldn’t be too hard. Agatha was such a stickler for organization. Everything’s in date order.”
I flicked through until I found the section for nineteen eighty-eight, the year I came to the orphanage. There were plenty of pictures of young boys, though I could barely recall any of them. I pulled one of the photos out of its plastic wallet. Two young boys were playing together with a model car. The older of the two looked remarkably like the pictures my mom had of me shortly after.
“I think this is me.”
Vince looked over my shoulder and snickered. “Awww, you look so cute. Wonder what happened to you.”
“Jerk,” I replied, pushing him away.
“Who’s the other kid?”
I shrugged. He must have been a few years younger than me.
“Hey, there’s another one of you with the same kid,” Vince pointed out, tapping the next page. “Kinda looks a little like Russell, doesn’t he? But then, so do you. You look like you could be brothers.”
I frowned and took out the second photo. Sure enough, it was the same young boy playing with me. “I can’t even remember his name,” I admitted.
“Really? Seems like you two were close,” Vince said, turning the page. There were a few more of us together, and then the boy was no longer in any of them.
I traced my finger over his image. “Why can’t I remember him?”
“You were young,” William said. “Some of us struggle to remember what happened last week, let alone two decades ago.”
I picked out one of the photos of the boy on his own and added it to the two I had taken earlier. “Thanks for this. I’m sure Mom would love to see these.”
We said our farewells, and I climbed into the car where I sat and stared at the photos until the sound of the passenger side door clicking shut snapped me back into reality.
“You think that boy is our guy?” Vince asked.
“Maybe,” I replied. “I just feel really bad that I can’t remember anything about him.”
“He looks younger than you were. Probably doesn’t remember either.”
“True,” I conceded and slipped the photos into the glove compartment. “Guess that just leaves three more orphanages to check out.”